Page 17 of Three Steps Behind

Tears bit at Deck’s eyes, but he didn’t cry. He’d learned years ago it only spurred them on. He rushed forward. “Take me instead.”

His mom turned. “You?”

“Yes. I’ll go. I’ll do a good job. Just take me.” Please.

Her dark brown eyes bore into him, then a smile curled her lips and laughter erupted through them. “You outgrew your usefulness years ago, but . . .” She looked toward his father. “Soon, you’ll be of use again. Ain’t that right, Art?”

Dad simply smiled.

Nine

DECK LUNGED FORWARD, gulping in a breath. Darkness engulfed him, save for the moonlight streaking through his window. The storm had cleared, and God’s night-light had returned, or so Riley used to call the moon. How, as a child, she’d held a faith that he only now had . . .

Held it in that war zone. It was beyond him, but she’d always held it. Been a child of light in a world of deep, abysmal darkness.

Raking a hand through his hair, Deck climbed from the bed, placing his feet on the cold floor. He half walked, half hopped to the dresser and slipped on a pair of socks before moving to the window.

An inky sky full of shimmering stars blanketed overhead. He smiled. He’d grab his coat, boots, and a blanket to engage in his second-favorite pastime—stargazing. His first being riding, of course.

He moved with light footfalls down the hall, past Harper’s door, her lights still on. He paused, wondering if he should knock and ask if she needed anything. Needed him. Ha. He wished.

But he didn’t want to disturb her if she’d fallen asleep with the lights on. The dark circle beneath her left eye—the unbruised one—spoke of her need for sleep, but her reactions and hypervigilance spoke of a restless spirit unable to find the slumber she needed. Anger burned his chest. Again, whoever had harmed her was dead if he ever got his hands on them.

“Vengeance is mine; I will repay.”

I know, Lord. But have you seen her?

I see her. I am the God who sees.

But she’s hurting. I can’t heal her. Only you can. So, do it, he urged.

Frustration squeezed his muscles. Why did this have to happen? How could you let it?

“My thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways.”

I don’t understand, and I want to be angry with you, but I know she needs healing only you can give.

You need healing too.

That may be, but it’s not happening. The scars are mine to carry, not yours.

Everything is mine to carry. Even your scars. I carried them with my own.

Of course God would call him out. But he wasn’t ready to listen. To let go of the need to avenge. Someone hurt Harper. Nearly decimated her, given her trauma he’d witnessed, and he’d bet he hadn’t even seen the half of it. No. If he could fix this, he would. If he could avenge, he would.

Okay. I won’t actually kill anybody. I want to, but I won’t. Okay? He was arguing with the God of the universe like he’d spar with his brother. He was going too far.

I’m sorry, Lord. Forgive me for being so disrespectful.

And?

I’m still not ready to lay down my anger or hurt. He moved down the hall, leaving his nightmare and God behind.

Then something made him turn around. Lights and a soft noise emanated from the den at the end of the hall.

Harper.

His shoulders dropped. He’d so wished she’d found rest.